


12. A Little Roleplay

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [12]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:52:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4551225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>warnings for physical and verbal humiliation, boots and military roleplay</p>
    </blockquote>





	12. A Little Roleplay

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for physical and verbal humiliation, boots and military roleplay

Antony finishes putting on his uniform, making sure his boots are polished, his buttons gleaming, face clean-shaven. It's been a long time since he's taken advantage of Citadel's _extras_ like this and he only hopes it'll live up to Stephen's fantasies as well. He's had Stephen shown to a separate room, a recruit's uniform provided, with his only instructions that he comes from a long line of soldiers and that to fuck up and fail out is not acceptable - that his 'character' will do  anything to make it.

Stephen takes the time to have a quick shower then he carefully pulls on the uniform. The room, the whole damned set up is what's he's becoming to understand about Citadel, they do things 100% right - and they go all out to make things happen. And it's clear his new Sir is taking full advantage of that. Rereading his instructions one last time, Stephen sets himself on the edge of the bed and waits. His knee ticking up a nervous twitch. This may be one of his fantasies that they're playing out, but Stephen doesn't want to let Antony down. 

The door flies opens and Mike sticks his head in, his breath catching at the sight of the man on the bed. Fuck he's hot and Mike actually owes John for letting him have this assignment. "Hey, Amell. Roll call, asshole," he says, motioning for Stephen to follow him, playing like they're old buddies.

Okay, so he's an actor, he's done improv in the past...so... _let's roll with it_ Stephen thinks as he pushes up from the bed. He smooths his hand over his short hair and follows the other guy out to the hall. Antony had warned him there'd be other guys involved, to set the scene, and he's cool with that, trusts his new Sir to honor his limits. They make their way down a couple of hallways, take a few corners until the other guy pushes open some double doors into a large room, it's pretty empty of furniture, however it's full of more men, all wearing the same clothes - clearly other 'soldiers'. His heart picks up a beat - and it's more down to nervousness than it is arousal or anticipation. 

"Hey, Jones," another dark-haired guy - Pete - says, slapping Mike upside the back of the head. "You'd better watch out. Sarge is on the warpath."

Mike ducks his head and glares at Pete. "Sarge is always on the warpath," he says, rubbing a hand over his tightly-shorn skull. "But it's Amell's ass he wants so I'm not worrying too much." He grins at Stephen.

Pete laughs. "Yeah. Apparently he always chooses some new recruit to take things out on. Guess you're it," he tells Stephen, pushing at his shoulder. "If I were you, I'd be spending hours making sure there wasn't a damn thing he could pick at."

"Unless he _likes_ the attention..." Mike teases.

Stephen's getting into this. He pushes back and growls "Just shut the fuck up, you wouldn't think it was so damned funny if it was your ass he was riding," And he just hides his smirk at his play on words. "And no I don't _like_ his fucking attention," he adds for good measure. "You're just both fucking jealous," he snarks. 

There's some truth to that, even outside this roleplay, and Pete's eyes flick to Mike and then back to Stephen as he retorts, "You wish, asshole." They've both scened with Antony over the years and the fact that this guy's just joined up and been fucking collared within a week, it sticks in Pete's craw. Fucking celebs. They get everything.

Mike snorts. "Boots, jerkwad," he says to Pete, noticing the streak of dirt.

"Shit." Pete curses under his breath, kneeling down to polish at them with the cuff of his uniform.

Mike rolls his eyes at Stephen. "What're you gonna do if he actually makes a move on you?"

Stephen shrugs. "He's not going to do that, he just wants to make my life hell, _that_ I can cope with, I'll just suck it up and take it." He glances down to where the other guy's polishing his boots. Black leather military boots... even here like this it has his dick twitching. _Fuck!_. 

From the security booth next to the room, Antony watches on the monitors. Listens to the exchange, the words barely made out over the din of the rest of the 'soldiers'. Notices that glance at Pete's boots. And that, right there, is his cue. "I'm ready to go in," he tells the employee standing beside him.

"Got it." Julian nods and heads out of the room, already yelling "Sarge is coming. Fall in, you bunch of dipshits," as he enters the other.

Stephen's heartbeat kicks up in an instant, his eyes on the door as he pulls himself into position between the two guys he's talking to. His normal submissive presentation is nearly always perfect, and he does his best to make sure his posture is as perfect as it can be like this too. 

Antony walks in a few steps behind Julian, his features already schooled into a scowl. He stops at the front, to the side, looking down the line of men and the ones behind them and shakes his head. "Pathetic." He walks down the line once and then turns to face them again. "You've been here a week and you've learned nothing."

 _Mother fucking..._ Stephen's reaction to seeing Antony in a full military uniform is almost visceral, he scans his Sir from head downward...and his breath catches hard in his throat at the boots. In moments he can feel his subspace kicking in - his breathing catches in his throat and he has to blink to try and refocus. He's never, _never_ had such a reaction to a dominant before. It has him swaying slightly on his feet and struggling to concentrate on the role play that's so carefully been planned out. 

"Rodriguez." Antony stops in front of a dark-hair man second in line. "You want to tell me what's wrong before I tell you?"

Fuck. Rodriguez swallows hard, eyes flickering to Julian.

"Rodriguez." Antony's voice is steel wrapped in velvet, danger simmering in the one word.

"No, Sir. I don't know, Sir," Rodriguez barks out.

Antony leans in. "You've got mustard on your collar, private."

Rodriguez bites back a whimper. He can't even check out his collar. Can't even see if the Sarge is right. But no one ever questions him. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't," Antony says. "It'll be something else the next time, you pathetic little puke. Drop and give me fifty."

He's heard a hint of that tone before, when he was licking his own piss and Sir's cum off the floor. Even so, it still hits Stephen hard in the belly and the front of his regulation army pants do absolutely nothing to hide his reaction. He stands, back ramrod straight eyes front as Sarge moves along the line of men. 

One after another, Antony finds problems. Short uniforms, frayed trousers, dirty boots, sorry posture. Half the front line's on the floor giving him fifty when he reaches Stephen. "Amell."

Stephen's aware he's flushed, though he's not aware of the fact his pupils have blown wide, and he pulls himself up straighter still by the merest fraction when Sarge's attention finally comes to rest on him. "Sir, yes Sir," he says, clearly acknowledging his officer. 

Antony doesn't say a word for a long moment. He simply takes his time, drinking in the other man in uniform, his gaze catching on his obvious erection. For his character, this is the one who does it, the one he fantasizes about having on his knees, his cock jammed down his throat, fucking his skull. "Same question. You want to tell me what's wrong before I tell you?"

One blink, and Stephen's swallowing before replying, eyes still front - as much as he wants to look at his Sarge. "I don't know Sir," his voice is steady. _Bring it on!_

"Your pants," and here Antony can't help the smirk. "They're too tight."

How the hell Stephen _doesn't_ snort out his amusement at that, he'll never know - but he does restrain himself and he merely replies with a quiet, "I can't apologise for what nature gifted me with Sir." _Right back at ya Sir!_

Antony leans in closer. "So you don't mind everyone else here knowing you're getting off on this," he says. "That you're _hard_ because I'm giving them grief."

"Actually _Sir_ , I was thinking of the hot date I had last night." Stephen's voice is still level but his eyes dance with amusement. And fuck me he wants to look down at those boots, but he knows if he does...he'll be struggling to keep playing along. 

"Which shows no control at all," Antony responds. "Drop and give me fifty and the rest of you, you can add another fifty to your count for Amell's insolence."

The moment Stephen's body hits the deck he closes his eyes, because fuck if those boots are now with in spitting distance. He focuses only on his own body, aligning himself to push out the fifty press ups as directed, thankful for the hardcore training he has to maintain for his role as Oliver. 

The rest of the guys already on deck grumble and glare at Amell.

Fucking asshole, Pete thinks. The only correct response when Sarge gives you shit for something is yes, Sir, I'm sorry, Sir. They all fucking know that. "Asshole," he murmurs to Stephen, unable to keep it in.

Stephen could care less what the others think of him, he's here to get through training, not make new bosom buddies, so he ignores the noises of discontent and concentrates of counting out his fifty push ups. When he's done he rolls gracefully back onto his feet and resumes his position. 

"Not so fast," Antony says, having already made sure the rest of the line joined them. "You owe everyone else an extra fifty and this time I want you to stay down there when you're done."

"Yes Sir," Stephen bites out, dropping back down once more, his eyes firmly shut as he counts out another fifty - his arms finally starting to feel the strain toward the end - when he's done he stays put - exactly as directed. His breath coming a little harder, anticipation keeping his cock hard. 

"Still thinking about that date?" Antony says.

"No Sir," Stephen huffs out. And it's only a little lie. Because how can he not when the object of his arousal is stood over him like this. 

Antony smirks. "That's a shame," he says, placing one booted foot square in the middle of Stephen's back. "Fifty more."

Mike whimpers, the sound quickly bit back. He doesn't know whether to feel more jealous or simply relieved that Sarge's attention is now firmly on Amell.

 _Fuck!_ Stephen takes in a breath - hears the choked off sound from the man beside him and wonders at it, so much so he opens his eyes - and that's a fucking mistake. Right there - one black, perfectly polished boot - right fucking _there_. He lets out a small needy noise of his own, and with his gaze fixed on that leather he starts to count out the next - more painful fifty - working hard against the push of Sarge's boot. 

His cock giving a rough throb at both those noises, Antony leans in, letting Stephen have more of his weight. "Still feeling the need to be mouthy?"

"No Sir," Stephen grinds out between clenched teeth, having to put so much more effort into each press now, sweat breaks out over his forehead. 

"That's a shame," Antony drawls, still pressing harder. "My boots aren't nearly as clean as they could be."

This time there is no holding back the noise that erupts from Stephen, or how his body reacts. He stalls in his attempt to push up - and his head turns to the one boot he can see. It's suddenly like the only people in the room are 'Sarge' and himself. _Fuck_.

His character meant it as a threat, something he'd never carry through on, but with Stephen's reaction, everything changes. "Company dismissed," he grits out, keeping Stephen firmly where he is. "Except you."

Damn. Mike almost whimpers again. He wants to see this. Wants to see what Antony makes Stephen do, the two men so fucking hot it makes his cock _ache_. But he rises to his feet and shuffles out of the room with the rest of the recruits, most of them every bit as disappointed they don't get to stay for the show.

Stephen maintains his position as the men file out - he maintains it when the door snicks shut behind the last of them. He risks a quick glance upward. "Sarge?" he croaks out - because fuck, for all his bravado earlier he's not sure what he'll do now they're on their own. He's swinging wildly between wanting to continue the role play and wanting to submit himself fully to his Sir. 

"Sounds to me like you _want_ to clean my boots, soldier," Antony says, keeping his boot planted firmly in Stephen's back. "Like you're just praying I'll make you do it so you won't have to beg."

"Wh...why would I _want_ to do something that fucked up Sir?" Stephen hisses out, his arms trembling with effort now. 

"Maybe because you're a fucked up little puke who gets off on being humiliated," Antony says with a wicked smile. "How the fuck would I know? All I know is you're hard as hell and making noises like you're gonna come in your uniform." He pushes harder, shoving Stephen to the ground. "And if you need incentive, here it is: I have your whole fucking future in my hand, maggot, and if you don't do what I want you to do, I'll send you home to your whole fucking family of heroes with your tail between your legs, telling them you failed out because you're a pussy."

"No...no please Sarge, don't do that...no...I'll..." Stephen turns his face on the floor, trying to look up the line of Sarge's body. "Please I can't fail...I can't..." he's almost sobbing. His entire body is thrumming with arousal, his mind whirring with the role play. "I'm sorry...really...I'm sorry."

Antony steps, taking his boot from Stephen's back, his legs spread, hands on his hips. "Show me," he orders. "I want these boots to _shine_ , you fucking maggot."

It's that old dance - one Stephen stopped trying to analyse years ago - the utter _need_ to get his tongue, his mouth on that leather, and his rational brain telling him it's fucking freaky and wrong and _humiliating_. He lets the conflict wash over and through him, savouring it as he inches his way forward - on his belly - until his mouth is right there - he can smell the polish, the leather and he _wants_ it more than anything else right now. One slow, broad lick and his mouth floods with the flavor of the leather - it _tastes_ like humiliation - and it's perfect. 

_Fuck._ Antony's cock throbs so hard it sucks every last bit of blood from his brain and he almost sways with arousal, only his wide stance saving him. He swallows hard, watching Stephen, biting back the praise he'd offer him as his dominant. "Did I say to take all day? Get the fuck in there."

With nothing more to hold him back Stephen sets to work, nosing at the boot before licking the leather, soft little needy moans spill out of his mouth - and he's utterly unaware. He shuffles closer still, the fingers of one hand brushing lightly - almost reverently against the edge of the boot he's giving his total attention to. His cock weeps steadily in the uniform pants - and Stephen's not sure this isn't a dream. 

"You're the kind of pig who needs this," Antony says, his voice thick with lust, his cock so hard it hurts already. "Needs to be put in his place, made to clean up..."

"Yessir..." Stephen slurs against the leather, his hand cupping the side of the boot as he works his way up the other side. "Pig Sir..." he agrees, before swapping to the other boot and giving it the same tender, lustful attention. _oh fuck me...this is perfect...he's perfect..._

Antony watches every lick, every flick of Stephen's tongue, his _need_ growing greater and greater with each and every passing second. But he's not ready to stop his boy, not yet, not when he's so intent on his task, so fucking... worshipful. A low groan spills from his lips and he rubs a hand over his cock, easing the ache through his uniform.

Stephen is absolutely reveling in this - in Sir - that noise however has him pause and pull back to cast a glance upward, and he's grateful to see his Sir is as totally into this as he is. Glass-eyed with lust he wants to murmur a 'thank you' however his tongue simply swipes over the leather one more time. 

"You're not done yet, pig," Antony says when Stephen finishes. "I want your mouth up here." His hands already working his pants open, his cock free.

Moaning Stephen nuzzles the boot. "Noo...no Sir please don't make me....not that..." he begs softly. "Don't make me..."

"You'd rather lick it off the ground?" Antony smirks, wrapping his hand around his cock, working it roughly.

Utterly torn Stephen raises his head, but it's the sight of that amazing cock that seals the deal, he opens his mouth and rises up onto his knees, clearly begging to be used. _I want it, I want you, cum on, me...choke me...cum on your boots..._ The words rattle around in his head and he's unable to verbalise any of it. 

Shifting closer, Antony feeds his cock into Stephen's mouth, pushing deep without much warning. He pulls back, giving Stephen a second to breathe before plunging in again, a steady rhythm set as he fucks his boy's throat.

Suddenly it all gets very nasty - Stephen's choking - just like he wanted, spit spilling over his chin as he struggles to suck on his Sir's weeping erection. Hands tucked in the small of his back he tilts his head back, eyes wide looking up as he gives himself utterly to his Sir's use. _You own me...you are my world right now..._

It doesn't take long. Not when the whole scene's built up to this. Right there, right on edge, Antony pulls back, hand wrapping around his spit-slicked cock again as he aims for the floor, come spattering both tile and boots.

The groan is loud as Stephen tries to capture just one drop of cum, he fails, swallowing instead the spit accumulated in his mouth before he's scrambling around on the floor licking up the cum from the floor first, saving the best til last - the semen dribbling over Sir's perfect black leather boots. 

Antony's groan echoes Stephen's as he watches his boy working the floor and his boots with his tongue, clearly desperate for every last drop. "You missed some, pig," he murmurs, hand on his cock, fingers squeezing free the last few tears of fluid onto the leather below.

Stephen laps it all up, chasing every single smudge and smear, pausing only when he thinks he's completed his task. He keeps himself curled up on the floor, mouth pressed to Sir's boot as if in a kiss as his breath stutters in his chest, his whole body one single throbbing ache of unrelenting arousal. He's so far down in his headspace now he'll struggle to find his own way back. 

_Fuck._ Antony blows out a breath and squats down, running a hand through Stephen's hair. "Good boy," he murmurs now, the praise well-earned. "My good, good boy."

Stephen turns glassy blue eyes up to Sir's face, he presses another kiss to the leather. Unable to move without clear direction he lays where he is, trembling. 

"Up, boy. Let's get you into the other room," Antony says, pulling Stephen up from the floor, his arms around him as he guides him into the adjoining hotel room. It's not a fancy as some of the rooms, or even their room upstairs, but it will do for this and means not having to move his boy too far while he's still under. He gets Stephen on the bed and settles beside him, pulling two bottles of cold water from the fridge, the top twisted from one and offered to Stephen. "Drink."

Stephen sucks on the water, and then regrets it almost instantly as it washes the taste of cum and leather from his mouth, he splutters on it, before swallowing some more and then pushing Sir's arm away when he's had enough. 

Antony downs half his own bottle and then sets both aside, sliding his hand up between Stephen's thighs to find him still hard, his uniform soaked straight through. Kneads his cock through the fabric, his eyes locked on his boy's face.

His mouth falling open Stephen makes soft noises of need. His body is in such a heightened state of arousal it won't take him long at all to attain his orgasm. His second orgasm. 

"I want you to come for me," Antony says, unrelenting in his touch. "In your uniform, and when you're done, you can suck it all back out."

It's almost the words that do it, just the words - but a few more determined strokes from Antony has Stephen's hips coming up off the bed, his upper body curling inward. He cries out a raw sound of utter pleasure. 

Antony groans as his hand gets a fresh soaking, warmth spreading across his palm. But then he leans back, working Stephen's boots loose and free from his feet. "Get them off and let me see you get every last drop," he orders, nodding at Stephen's pants.

Still unable to speak, his brain too off line to think enough to form sentences, Stephen tugs his pants off, and with shaking hands he turns the upper part inside out to reveal the white smearing of his own jizz. He licks away the obvious globs, turning the fabric this way and that to get into all the creases, and then finally he stuffs the dampest part into his mouth and sucks on it. His gaze never once leaving his Sir's face. 

When Stephen's done, Antony takes the pants from him, tossing them from the bed. He cups his boy's face, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone and leans down to kiss him, thoroughly, tasting everything, arousal still so palpable between them it's all he can do to make himself pull back and slowly undress Stephen, fingers working open the buttons on his shirt, sliding it from his shoulders and out from under him. "Get under the covers," he orders, tugging them up before he stands to shed his own uniform, his still half-hard cock springing free. He slips between the sheets with Stephen, pulling his boy into his arms and keeps kissing him, tongue delving into his mouth again and again. Memorizing how he feels, tastes, sounds...

Stephen's like a doll, he lets Sir undress him, lets himself be guided into the bed then moments later he's pulled into Sir's arms and only then does he seem to find his own will to move - his hands stroking, carefully, reverently over hot skin, his mouth open for kisses which he returns with equal passion. His cock, somehow, thickens again, until it's bumping messily against Sir's own. 

"I want to fuck you," Antony whispers, pushing Stephen onto his back, his legs up before moving down his body, his mouth on his boy's hole an instant later, licking into him.

Hands caught behind his knees, Stephen keeps his legs back and apart, exposing himself totally for his Sir. "Nnnnggghh," the noise is wordless, pleading and needy. His hole flutters around the probing of his Sir's tongue and it has Stephen mewling. 

Antony spears his tongue deeper, nuzzling his whole face into Stephen's ass. Stabs his tongue into him, fucking his hole open, urged on by the sounds his boy's making. Pure desperation at its best.

It's not something Stephen's had done to him very often, but fuck, Sir is really going to town on his ass, and it's making Stephen insane. If he could articulate himself he'd be begging, but his words have deserted him and he's unable to tell his Sir how close he is to losing his mind .

With Stephen good and wet, Antony pushes back up to his knees, one hand around his cock lining up, knowing damn well that spit doesn't make lube for long.

Now he can see his Sir's face again some of the tension in Stephen eases, he locks his gaze on that face and he automatically adjusts his body for what is being demanded of it now...unconsciously baring down, teeth bared as he tries to take his Sir's cock into his body. 

"That's it. Good boy. Let me in," Antony murmurs, pushing slowly but steadily deeper, the way so tight, so hot... if he hadn't come earlier he'd be lost. Staring into Stephen's eyes, he feels the connection they've already made, the connection, the click, that's only deepening with every scene, with every moment spent with this man. His boy. _His._

One shaking hand comes up and Stephen clumsily strokes the side of Sir's face as he opens his body - heedless of pain, or the unrelenting pressure of having such a large cock forced into his unlubed hole. 

Turning his head into the touch, Antony presses a kiss to Stephen's wrist, a soft groan spilling from his lips as he bottoms out, his cock throbbing violently. "Oh, god," he murmurs, blowing out a breath, hips rocking, savouring the feel, before he eases back out and then in again. And again.

With his brain still firmly off line Stephen's body is running on autopilot - and he responds beautifully to each subtle cue from his Sir, he adjusts his body to accommodate as much of that huge cock as he can, arching up as his Sir pushes back in, fingers stroking, finding little sweet spots that elicit particularly sensuous groans. 

Antony's not in a hurry. Not at all. But he wants Stephen there with him so he stays close, tight against him, his boy's cock rubbed against their stomachs with every thrust, kissing Stephen over and over, as lost in his mouth as he is in his body. 

The kissing, the closeness is lulling Stephen into a much quieter, softer head space than the military scene had inspired. All there is for him right now is Sir, and the pleasure that's building, steadily, for each of them. 

Antony keeps up that slow pace, that steady rhythm, for as long as he can. But eventually there's no holding out any longer. Arousal reaching a crescendo, he thrusts faster, harder, his head lifted, his eyes locked on Stephen's, staring into him. "Come with me," he orders, wanting to _see_ his boy go over, his teeth gritted as his own orgasm hits and his cock spurts inside his boy, hot and thick and deep.

Stephen's orgasm is nothing by comparison, his body has already cum hard twice, this time there's hardly any ejaculate, though he bows up into Sir, eyes wide as he clenches down hard on that rod of steel in his ass, sucking in breath like a drowning man. 

"Oh, fuck," Antony breathes, rocking into Stephen, through the last of both their aftershocks before he finally stills. "God." Shaking his head, a small smile curving his lips. "That was incredible."

Stephen nuzzles his face into Sir's throat and presses it there, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex that wraps around them both. He can feel Antony's pulse fluttering a double beat beneath his lips. His eyes closed he simply lets himself drift in the warm afterglow of insanely good sex and the headspace of an amazing scene. 

It's amazing to not have to move afterwards. To simply sink into his boy, into that soft slick heat, knowing there's no condom to get rid of, no rush to clean up.

Antony stays where he is for a long time, the silence between them perfect, needing no words. And then finally, with another kiss, he eases out and to the side, pulling Stephen into his arms again, the covers tugged up around them.

Draping himself over Sir, Stephen wriggles until his mouth is pressed to the corner of his Sir's jaw, his arm thrown over his torso, fingers stroking. He smiles slowly, cat-like in his blissful state. "I love your boots," he murmurs. 

"I was hoping you would," Antony murmurs, smiling, his eyes crinkling at their corners. "They're mine. Not just props."

Stephen lets out a happy sigh at that piece of news. He licks a kiss over Antony's skin, he's still very much under but this peace and quiet after the storm is rather wonderful. "You...please Sir...please don't wear them around me...unless you're going to put me on my knees..." 

"I won't," Antony promises. "Was it okay having the other guys there?" He didn't have them really do anything this time, but next time, depending on how Stephen feels, he might let them stay and watch.

"Yeah." Stephen pushes up now, to peer down into his Sir's face. "Yeah...yeah it was...man...you were so fucking hot that you were getting to those two guys who were talking to me." He smiles. "Next time I want them to watch...watch me get from you what they'll never have." And if his smile is impish he'll not deny it. 

Antony's cock gives a softening twitch at that and he shakes his head, amused with himself and his reactions. "You know what you said about being all my birthdays and Christmases in one?"

Stephen smiles, and presses a kiss to Sir's mouth. "Happy BirthdayChristmas, Sir," he murmurs.


End file.
